


Para la patria

by obbel



Category: Latin American Celebrities RPF, Men's Football RPF, Reggaeton RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP, World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obbel/pseuds/obbel
Summary: So of course that’s how he ends up half naked in a glorified broom closet in El Campín, long after the send off celebrations have wrapped up, steadily losing hope that Maluma will suck his cock and not just pontificate on the merits of his various career choices. He’s on his knees and he’s gotten James’s shorts off, but they seem to have hit a plateau.





	Para la patria

**Author's Note:**

> Porn is hard to write. Excuse the fact that I'm six months late and Colombia didn't win :(

“Come see me before you leave. I’m going to wish you good luck in private,” Maluma says quietly, leaning in to whisper in James’s ear as his hand trails lightly over the small of his back. His fingers have somehow snuck under the hem of James’s jersey. All James can think is _yikes._

So of course that’s how he ends up half naked in a glorified broom closet in El Campín, long after the send off celebrations have wrapped up, steadily losing hope that Maluma will suck his cock and not just pontificate on the merits of his various career choices. He’s on his knees and he’s gotten James’s shorts off, but they seem to have hit a plateau.

“Your body is amazing,” Maluma says, running his tongue over James’s abs. James jumps. It tickles.

“Thanks?” James doesn’t know what’s going on here. He thought this was going to lead to orgasm(s), but Maluma doesn’t seem to be in any hurry about it. He has his hands on James’s ass, groping it firmly, and that feels pretty good. But.

James sighs.

Maluma lowers his mouth and his hands, nuzzling at the crease where James’s leg connects to his hip while he palms over James’s thighs, pushing them farther apart. James’s cock twitches. Maluma smiles at it but doesn’t make any move to _actually touch it_.

“It’s kind of fucked up though.”

“What?” James looks down at Maluma, and he has sadly moved even farther away from James’s dick. He’s turned his attention to James’s shins instead, walking his fingers over all the little scars and scrapes. He finds a bruise and presses it.

“What?” James says again, and then, “Ow, don’t do that.”

James is uncomfortably hard, and he’s starting to wonder if Maluma is even going to blow him or if this is all some weird set up. To promote Maluma’s new album or something. Who knows how that works.

“Music was the right choice for me,” Maluma says, working his way back up towards James’s dick with little kisses all over his thighs, and James is very hopeful, until Maluma opens his mouth again and _words_ come out of it.

“But you know, I could have gone pro. Then we’d be teammates.”

“Um,” James says, at a loss. He doesn’t want to be rude, but a) he’s not sure how true that is, and b) he needs someone to touch his dick soon. And if it’s not going to be Maluma, he should go see if anyone else is still in the locker room. Quintero, maybe.

“Look, Juan,” James says, repositioning himself from where he was braced against some sort of cabinet and glancing around surreptitiously to see where his shorts have gone. This was clearly a false start, and he’s going to have to get out of here as diplomatically as possible. And then go find Quintero, definitely. “You can come to practice sometime when we get back, if that’s what this is about.”

“Nice,” Maluma says, and he stands up suddenly, leading James to think, _wow, this really was a whole bunch of bullshit._ James moves to get the hell out of the cramped, smelly little room, but he only makes it a few steps before Maluma stops him, pushes him back against the wall. He’s pretty strong.

“Where are you going?” He presses himself up against James, hips lined up together, and James can feel, even through the fabric of Maluma’s pants, that he’s hard. Maluma’s idea of foreplay is fucking weird, but at least he’s touching James’s dick now. He grinds his hips forward, and James groans.

“I’m not just trying to get free tickets, you know. I told you, I’m here to wish you good luck.” He grins at James.

James is more than a little annoyed, but he gets over it pretty quickly as Maluma finally, _finally_ puts James’s dick in his mouth.

 _Fucking Maluma,_ James thinks. But all he says is “Nghh.”

James lets the head above his shoulders drop backwards, and it collides with the wall, painfully.

“Be careful.” Maluma talks with his mouth full, tongue swirling in circles around the head of James's dick, getting him fully hard again. It doesn’t take very long.

 _“Ya,”_ James groans and runs his hand through Maluma’s hair. It’s more than enough to grab onto, and James lets his fingers catch at the roots, guiding Maluma’s movements. He doesn’t need to be told what to do, though. Maluma bobs up and down, slowly taking more and more of James into his throat each time and eventually swallowing him like it’s nothing.

It’s not nothing. James is pretty proud of his dick, even though he didn’t do anything to earn it. Still, Maluma takes it all, easily, and James can feel it hitting the back of Maluma’s throat as his hips thrust forward. James moans again and tries not to choke Maluma to death, but it’s hard not to just mindlessly _fuck_ when Maluma’s mouth envelops him so completely, hot and wet and wonderful.

Maluma doesn’t seem to care. He looks thoroughly relaxed, not concerned about the amount of dick currently fucking his face. He must not have a gag reflex, James muses. Or maybe he just sucks enough cock that he learned how to suppress it. James should ask him for some pointers.

“Fuck,” James says instead. “I’m gonna come.”

Maluma, asshole that he is, _stops,_ and James could just about cry. But then Maluma puts on such a show of sucking his own fingers that it leaves James slack-jawed, and then he’s pressing them up behind James’s balls, and James is whining as Maluma brushes against a spot inside him that makes his legs quiver.

Maluma keeps one hand pressed hard against James’s thigh, keeping him standing, James realizes, as he fucks James with the other. James moans, and he has to stuff his sleeve in his mouth as Maluma angles his fingers just right because if he yells as loudly as he wants to, someone is gonna come looking for the murder taking place.

Maluma gets his mouth back on James’s dick, and then it’s all over.

“Oh my God,” James says around the fabric, and then “Fuck”, and then “I’m gonna come, really”, as he frantically swats at Maluma’s shoulder. Maluma fucks him with his fingers in short, hard thrusts, hitting James’s prostate again and again. He sucks steadily, just barely pulling off in time before James comes all over the space in between them.

“You got that on me, _parcero,”_ Maluma says after James’s brain reboots and gets back online.

“Sorry,” James says sheepishly. He glances down, and yeah, that’s definitely cum on Maluma’s shirt. He swipes half-heartedly at it with his fingers.

“You can make it up to me.” Maluma makes a not-subtle gesture towards his dick, and James thinks, _oh_.

“I, um.” James doesn’t know what to say, so he goes for the truth. “I’m not as good at this as you are.”

“Not many people are.”

Maluma looks pretty smug, and James is more than a little intimidated. He didn’t realize this was a two way street kind of deal. But he’s not going to be the guy who gets blown and then doesn’t return the favor, so he rallies himself. _Para la patria,_ James thinks.

Maluma is still mostly keeping James upright, leaning heavily against him so he doesn’t collapse onto the floor. James flips their positions, pins Maluma in place and kisses him, something they haven’t actually done yet. It’s strangely more intimate than having Maluma’s fingers up his ass. James can feel Maluma’s breath catch when he bites gently on his lower lip and how easily he opens his mouth to let James’s tongue touch his own.

James pushes Maluma’s shirt up, runs his hands over Maluma’s stomach and grabs at his waist. It’s not an athlete’s body, but it’s still fit, still well maintained. James traces his fingers over the sharp angle of Maluma’s hip.

“Your body is not bad,” James says quietly, smiling. “At least not for someone who eats bread.” He pinches the tiny amount of softness around Maluma’s lower stomach, and Maluma jumps.

“I don’t eat that much bread.” Maluma frowns at him and then looks at his own body.

“Relax. You look great,” James laughs and gets on his knees. He bites at Maluma’s stomach, then kisses it, alternating until he reaches the waistband of Maluma’s pants. James undoes the button and shoves them down, underwear and all.

Maluma’s dick is staring him in the face, and James licks it tentatively. It’s not the first time he’s done this, but it’s been a while. He and Quintero usually just jerk each other off, mostly out of lack of motivation to do anything more strenuous between matches. But Maluma is not Quintero, and they’re probably not going to play FIFA afterwards, so if James fucks this up, there’s no redemption later on. James does his best to make it good.

James gets as much of Maluma’s dick down his throat as he can manage, and wraps his hand around the rest. Rhythm, he remembers, is the most important thing. Rhythm and consistency and breathing through his nose.

Maluma is pretty vocal about what he likes, and James is glad to be getting instructions. But he’s even more pleased when Maluma stops being coherent, when all he’s saying is “Oh, yes, like that, fuck, yes, don’t stop, James, _que rico.”_

Maluma comes in James’s mouth. He tells James he’s going to come, and James thinks about pulling off, but he likes the way Maluma looks when he realizes James isn’t going anywhere. Maluma’s eyes roll back, then close, and James can feel Maluma losing control, just a little. His hips stutter, once, twice, and then James’s mouth is full.

He swallows, and it’s kind of gross if he’s completely honest. But they’ve already made a mess of the broom closet, and he really needs to get back to his teammates before someone realizes how long he’s been gone.

Maluma, apparently, doesn’t care. He stops James from getting dressed just to kiss him. With tongue.

“I have to go,” James protests, pulling away only to be reeled back in. Maluma smiles at him and steals more kisses before he lets James go. They put their clothes back on, and James checks that everything is clear before they step out into the deserted hallway.

“I’m coming to your practice when you get back,” Maluma says. “You invited me. Then I can say I fucked a World Cup winner.”

“Okay,” James says. _“Viva Colombia.”_

He can hear Maluma laughing as turns and leaves, running to the parking lot lest he miss his flight. He’s got to catch up with his teammates. They have a World Cup to win.


End file.
